


Derek Hale's Blue Period

by taketwenty_one



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Pablo Picasso's Blue Period, art school au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taketwenty_one/pseuds/taketwenty_one
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon discovering that he needs to cram one more fine arts course into his schedule to graduate, Stiles' new college room mate Isaac suggests he takes Professor Peter Hale's figure drawing course. Though it's an advanced class, Isaac's heard you can flirt your way in, so Stiles makes an appointment with Professor Hale to give it a try. Stiles wasn't planning on Professor Hale's gorgeous TA Derek catching his eye. Derek, however,  is working through the loss of his family by creating a series of paintings inspired by Pablo Picasso's Blue Period, and doesn't appear interested in coming out of his own personal blue period. Stiles Stilinski has something else in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You can come out of the closet, Stiles. It's okay.” Isaac murmured from the other side of the door, trying to keep his voice as even as possible.

Stiles was relieved that in the few emails they'd exchanged before moving in together as freshman room mates, Isaac had introduced himself as a social work major. At least he stood a chance of tolerating Stiles; though coaxing his panicking room mate out of a closet probably wasn't how Isaac had wanted to spend his first day.

The irony of locking himself in a closet upon receiving a distressing email was not wasted on Stiles. It was the day before the beginning of his first semester and his four year plan of study had been rejected. And although Stiles had awkwardly stumbled out of the proverbial closet during his junior year of high school, he was quite content to hide in the literal closet he currently occupied forever.  
It was all over one, stupid, fine arts course. His plan of study had made space for ARTS 1031: Discovering Photography during the fall of his junior year, but he apparently needed two fine arts courses to graduate from the school of engineering. So unless Stiles could cram one more course into his flawlessly orchestrated schedule he would not be graduating on time. This was not looked upon kindly by the committee in charge of dispensing the scholarship Stiles so desperately needed to survive.

The door opened and Isaac peered down at Stiles, who had twisted his long legs over a shoe rack, back pressed against the furthest corner of the tiny closet.

“Impressive.” Isaac stated simply, brow arching over a brilliantly blue eye, in an effort to break the silence. Silence, he would soon discover, was a rarity in the presence of Stiles. Stiles burrowed his face behind the row of coats he'd been leaning against. In high school, if you ignored a problem for long enough, everyone was content to let it... go away. College, it seemed, would not be so easy.  
“Just let me hide away in shame. I'm not going to graduate because I suck. I put that I played four years of lacrosse on my application, they totally know that's a lie. This is my karma, I didn't even play lacrosse. I just like, showed up and looked hot in a uniform.”

“Classes haven't even started, how are you already not graduating? It's not like the wild night life has gotten in your way...”

This was true enough. Stiles' genuinely impressive lack of social awareness and tact kept him safe from failing out due to over-popularity. Isaac, too, would be safe from that particular vice, as he seemed oblivious to his own good looks. Stiles figured him for a late bloomer, the type who had become gorgeous but remained shy because all the girls back home remembered him crying all the time in kindergarten over stolen juice or something.

“Okay. So y'know that four year plan we have to make? Of what classes you'll take when?”

“No. In the school of social work they factor in time for like, crying and feelings and stuff. It's not as rigid as engineering.” Isaac smirked, self consciously adjusting his curls, as though attempting to hide in case his sarcasm wasn't well received. To a Stilinski, sarcasm was always acceptable.

Stiles smiled wide, letting Isaac know his efforts towards mending post-panic attack Stiles had not gone unappreciated. He scrambled out from the closet, fighting with the shoe rack and several coats in the process.

“Okay, so I kiiinda have a little gap in mine... I'm missing a class. One insignificant little thing, but my academic advisor wants me to reconfigure my perfect schedule to make room for it. I spent hours making my schedule for the next four years of my life and I'm supposed to change it all today. I need one more freakin' art class to graduate. I get the whole liberal arts, understanding myself whatever, but I'm not going to discover anything in two arts classes. I'll take my eye out with a paintbrush... I'll be blinded!”

Isaac had attempted to start speaking several times when he'd been under the impression that Stiles' rant was complete. He slowly opened his mouth again, bracing himself for the onslaught to begin again.

“Um, you could just take Professor Hale's figure drawing class. I've heard if you go flirt with him, he's pretty receptive to taking non-art major students.”  
Stiles paused, and then swung around to his desk, flipped open his laptop and had the faculty page for the School of Fine Arts open within seconds.

“Professor... Peter Hale. He's a guy?” Stiles asked, looking at the black and white portrait which accompanied the professor's position and contact information.

“I did say he.” Isaac reminded in as casual a tone as possible.

In the handsome black and white portrait Professor Hale had dark hair, pushed back from his face revealing his strong jaw and striking eyes. Even in the black and white photo, it was obvious that they were brilliant in color. His smile revealed perfect teeth that made Stiles' skin crawl... whether in an anxious, nervous way, or in a messed up sense of anticipation, he couldn't say.

Isaac leaned over, placing a hand on his shoulder and coughed, drawing Stiles out of his...totally not weird staring session. Isaac seemed to be waiting for a response.

“Uh, so, what makes you think I'd go flirt with some guy?” Stiles diverted, pushing the focus away from how not-weirdly he'd been staring at, and towards Isaac's rather presumptuous suggestion.

“Well, not to imply that you're the type to go all hot for teacher” Isaac countered, in a tone that sounded like he definitely implied it, “but you're gay, so it couldn't hurt to flirt a little if it gets you what you need.” Isaac's point was a practical one.

“Wait, dude, what makes you think I'm gay?” Stiles spasmed in his chair, wheeling to face Isaac. It'd taken Stiles 16 years to figure out that he liked guys, no way his room mate figured it out in less than 16 hours.

Isaac's face grew serious. “I smelled it on you,” he deadpanned, looking Stiles' square in the eye. As Stiles' mouth opened in complete awe, Isaac's stretched into a grin. “Dude, no. Some guy stopped by earlier to let me know, and to make sure I'd be supportive. I don't care, obviously. I don't even think he goes here, though.”  
Scott. He'd been relegated to a local branch of the university until his grades went up, but thanks to Allison's enrollment at the same college as Stiles, Stiles' didn't imagine he'd have much time to miss him.

“Yeauh, that's my buddy Scott. He's... protective.” Stiles admitted. “And I am not the type to go all hot for teacher!”

“Yea okay.”

 

* * *

 

At 8:00 the next morning, Stiles was navigating his half of the closet for the male equivalent of “slutty but not too slutty” for the 9AM appointment he'd made with Professor Hale, to address why he needed to enroll in his class. He was desperate for the advice of Lydia, his childhood crush who, given her status as Allison's best friend, had become his friend by association. He almost texted her, but knowing the exchange would end with Lydia scoffing out some super clever version of “I guess this is as good as it's going to get” kept him at bay. Only Lydia could scoff via text message. Not exactly the self esteem boost he was going to need if he was actually going to try to flirt with a professor on his first day of college.

He settled on a raspberry button down with grey jeans, flailing over the decision of whether or not to wear the skinny tie he'd pulled out of his sock drawer. As Stiles fiddled with the knot of his tie, he heard Isaac groan as he sat up in bed.

“Pink?” Isaac yawned, stretching his arms overhead.

“It's raspberry.” Stiles protested, stumbling as he grabbed at his backpack. “Do I... I mean, will this work?” Stiles asked, gesturing to his outfit.

“I wouldn't have any idea... I wore grey to a rave once.” Isaac offered pleasantly.

“Thank you. You're magnificently helpful. Have fun in class today; better some futures, social some work, you know.” Stiles bantered as a way of avoiding any further thoughts on his outfit, slinging his backpack over one shoulder and squirming through the dormitory door.

Stiles found the art building in no time, as it was markedly older than other buildings on campus. He guessed that it'd once been a prized building on campus, home to the school of business or something. It'd probably fallen to the school of fine arts once it'd been figured out that asbestos was a bad thing. The brick work was old and crumbling, but the overall structure of the building was still impressive, arching high amongst the ancient trees that spotted the campus.

Taking in a deep breath, Stiles ambled up the stone steps to the imposing wooden doors, pushing in the door with both hands right into a man in the hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

 

The man stumbled upright, managing to not spill a drop of the coffee cup he held in his hands, twisting his entire body to confront Stiles.

Stiles began to stutter out an apology before being struck dumb.

Ho. Ly. Shit.

Though the man couldn't have been more than a few years older than Stiles, and though he stood glaring, silently demanding an explanation; Stiles had never seen a guy like _this_. Every feature seemed to command attention, and Stiles barely knew where to look. The man's piercing green eyes, full mouth, and strong jaw were perfectly balanced by his significant height and broad, muscular shoulders. His jet black hair and worn leather jacket also made a perfect contrast to the fact that _Stiles was staring at him with his mouth open._

“Suh, uh, sorry, man!” Stiles said cheerfully, his voice uncomfortably loud in the stillness of the lobby in the early morning. Stiles eagerly offered his hand out, making an effort to be congenial. The man's eyes flicked down to Stiles' extended hand, and barely made their way back up to meet Stiles' eyes before turning to walk away.

“You have the wrong building.” He stated, not even turning around to face Stiles as he walked across the lobby.

The man's voice was perfectly clear despite the early hour, an interesting contrast to his tough looks. Stiles had almost expected a smoker's husky growl, but his voice conveyed a confidence that made Stiles follow him across the lobby without hesitation.

The man stopped suddenly and sighed deeply, as Stiles almost crashed into his back.

“What?” He snapped, turning his body to face Stiles. Despite being tall himself, Stiles felt as though this man was looking down at his under his thick brows.

“I'm Stiles.” He offered his hand again, determined to stop thinking of this _'man'_ in such mysterious terms.

The man rolled his eyes, already impatient with Stiles' cheery attitude. He shifted his coffee cup to his other hand, and averted his eyes for the quick handshake. A quick handshake that involved more crushing than shaking for Stiles. 

“Derek.” The man admitted. “Freshman art classes are Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. You have the wrong building.” He repeated, turning to continue on his way across the lobby. 

“I have an appointment!” Stiles accidentally shouted. “Sorry _. I have an appointment.”_ He whispered, as though to compensate. Derek stared back, seeming mystified that anyone could be so stupid. “Am I that obvious? As a freshman, I mean?”

“Yeah.” Derek smirked, in a way that bared his _(of course)_ perfect teeth. 

“With Professor Hale. At 9. To talk. About classes. Obviously. I have nothing else to talk to him about. I mean, like, I'm sure he's really interesting and that we'd have lots to talk about, but this is about class. The appointment. As I said...I'll shut up.” 

Derek stared back, and Stiles wondered if his long suffering glare was a sign that he was trying to figure out how he'd led a life that had brought him to a place where he was confronted by skinny, spastic college freshman. Derek finally closed his eyes and exhaled, as though preparing himself. 

“Peter's office is this way. Follow me.” 

Derek strode off, Stiles tripping after him in his quickness to follow the commanding figure. Derek lead him down a barren hall just off the lobby, the cork boards that lined the walls awaiting the student works that would soon be displayed. Stiles bounced in place, waiting as Derek unlocked the wooden door to the office. While every other door in the hall featured a frost glass panel, Stiles noted that Professor Hale's had been tactfully covered over by a glossy and tasteful poster advertising a gallery opening for graduate works inspired by Picasso. Maybe Isaac's reference to flirting went a bit further than university policy would like to imagine.

Derek unlocked the door and entered, something he'd clearly done a thousand times before. Stiles' imagination began to wander towards the motivation for the poster covering the window, but was stopped upon taking in the sight of the impressive room before him. Professor Hale's, or, as Derek called him, _Peter's_ office was a generous size but still felt intimate, based on the warmth of the wooden paneling and the expansive bookshelves lining the wall behind his desk. The desk was so wide, and so richly carved that Stiles could imagine Peter vetoing other desks, simply for not being imposing and scary enough. Imposed and scared being two things Stiles was definitely feeling. _Imposed on? Impostioned? Fucking very frightened?..._

“Peter will be arriving any moment.” Derek said, interrupting Stiles' thoughts. “Do you need a permission number for ART 1000 or something?” he asked, sprawling across the arms of a leather chair in the far corner of Peter's office.

The scathing tone of his voice made Stiles question whether ART 1000 was an actual class.

“No, I emailed him about enrolling in figure drawing-”

Derek scoffed openly and rolled his eyes, drinking deeply from his coffee cup, a rather sensual act which Stiles found humiliatingly distracting.

“What? I need another art class to graduate! It's not my fault the university wants me to be well rounded. I'd be perfectly happy being... not well rounded. Flat. You know-”

“You're not even an art student?” Derek groaned. “Then I can tell you right now- No.”

“No? You can't say 'no', you're not the professor-”

“No, but I am.” A cool voice drawled from the doorway. Peter Hale leaned against the doorway, looking wryly amused. Compared with his headshot from the website, he was not a disappointment. Peter strode forward, extending his hand. Unlike Derek, Peter's eyes pierced in Stiles' in a way that was both demanding and investigative; Stiles got the distinct impression that he was being sized up. Stiles' mind went into overdrive wondering just who Peter might be comparing him to.

“Sorry I'm a bit late, Derek, I know you wanted my advice on-”

“No, you're not. No, I didn't.” Derek interrupted. Clearly an debate the two had undergone previously, though Stiles was getting the idea that Derek didn't want him to hear about whatever it was that Peter was trying to advise him on.

“It's totally fine!" Stiles offered, "If you needed to talk to about something, I can just wait in the hall, Peter-”

“' _Professor Hale_ ', would be fine, I think.” Peter interjected, an amused smirk spreading across his face as the hot blush of embarrassment spread across Stiles'. “I'm afraid I didn't quite catch your name in the email, it's a bit... unique.” Professor Hale apologized, moving the conversation and authoritatively herding Stiles into the chair across from his desk.

“'Stiles' is fine, for me. It's what everyone calls me. _Professor_ Hale.” Stiles awkwardly overemphasized Professor Hale's title in an effort to appeal to his obviously massive ego.

“ _Stiles.”_ Professor Hale articulated the word slowly, as though allowing time to try to see the humor in a poor joke.

“Yep. 'Stiles'. Yes, really 'Stiles'. I mean, if that doesn't work, Professor, you can call me-”

“No. No, no. I'm not calling you... _that_. 'Stiles' is fine.” Professor Hale murmured, leaning forward towards Stiles and focusing his attentions on him. Again, Stiles was reminded of Issac's remarks that flirting would be required, and he struggled to think of how he could possible think of anything suggestive to say to a professor, particularly with the brooding presence of Derek looming from the armchair. “So, Stiles.” Professor Hale continued, “You want to be in my figure drawing class. As a freshman engineering student. Want to talk to me about what might qualify you to participate in such an advanced course?”

“I watch _a lot_ of porn.” The words were out before they could be stopped, so Stiles automatically reverted to his natural response to everything stupid that came out of his mouth- Keep talking.

“Well, really, it is the human figure, so all of it counts as research. A lot of research. Not a weird amount of research, you know, just the normal amount of research of the- of the figure, and-”

Peter raised a hand to stop Stiles' rant. “I think that's enough, Stiles.” He stated, his eyes looking past Stiles and at Derek, who could be heard sighing rather dramatically. Stiles, rose slowly from his chair, with as little excess motion as possible; maybe he could just run away without further comment, and convince himself he'd had a nightmare. There had to be other art classes he could take, ones that wouldn't require any tragic attempts at flirting.

“You'll need a permission number before you go, of course.” Peter remarked casually, opening a drawer to his desk for a manilla folder.

“What?” Derek and Stiles shouted in union. They'd obviously misheard him.

“You've got to be joking, Peter.” Derek demanded, rising from the chair and walking across the room to confront Peter.

“I'm actually not being sarcastic, for once. This is just how my voice sounds.” Professor Hale said, smirking at the reaction he'd elicited from Derek.

“Uh. Thank you, Professor.” Stiles interjected, anxious that he might provoke Derek further.

“Absolutely.” Professor Hale grinned in a way that looked more predatory than friendly as he scribbled a permission number onto a scrap of paper.

“I'm not wasting my time helping a _freshman.”_ Derek growled at Professor Hale. Excluding the barrier of space Derek carefully maintained between himself and Stiles, he spoke as though Stiles wasn't in the room at all.

“Yes, you will be. Derek, I think you could really benefit from teaching Stiles. Stiles-” Professor Hale continued, turning his head to face him. “This is Derek, who I believe you've already met. He's my teaching assistant for the course, and is more than happy to help you with _anything you need_.” The last words seemed to be a thinly veiled threat to Derek.

“I'm looking forward to having you in class, _Stiles_.” Professor Hale murmured, his words heavy with innuendo as he handed Stiles the paper with the permission number.

“Thank... you. _Professor_.” Stiles offered, pulling a wide smile in an effort to diffuse the tension that hung in the room.

“I like your shirt. Kind of a 'raspberry' color, isn't it? Don't you like it, Derek?” Peter mused, watching Stiles awkwardly back towards the door.

“It's _pink_.” Derek snapped, storming out of the office before Stiles could make it to the door.


End file.
